The Target Mystery
by Mikel Midnight
Summary: A cross over between Holmes and Poirot (and Little Women and Frankenstein), continuing the tale by Moonspun Dragon, from a plot bunny by Alan Moore.
1. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Jo March's POV

She paced about the small room restlessly. She had seen death in her life, both her beloved sister Beth as well as her late husband Fritz, but the worlds of crime and violence were new to her.

Arnold Roger had lacked Fritz's keen intelligence and ready wit, but he had been kind to her, and understanding of her desires to be a writer. As a widow she had discovered a new form of loneliness, and Arn's presence had been easy. He was generous as well, gifting her with antique jewellery and trips overseas after their wedding.

She shivered, though the room was not overly cold, and looked out the glass window. Belgium had been thrilling to explore, but now she wished for nothing more to be returned home. The luxurious hotel Arn had picked out turned out to be ill-fated: first the series of thefts in which his gold watch, as well as the sapphire set of jewellery which included the necklace, bracelet, and earrings which Roger had given her as a wedding gift, in addition to her engagement ring.

She particularly adored the odd necklace, with its antique charm which resembled a small sword, in which was rolled a tiny parchment with almost microscopically small writing in what may have been an ancient Welsh dialect. It had put her in mind of tales of knights both good and evil, and ladies held captive in perilous castles, but now what may have been a new fictional journey for her had become a captivity all too real.

She had tried calling out the window, had screamed for help until her throat was hoarse, but no help had come to her. "Oh Mother, Oh Father, Oh Meg," she choked out, and slumped down on the small bed in the room. Her eyes began to tear up again, and she wiped at them angrily. Come on Jo, she thought to herself, you're no whiner.

She picked up her chair and tried to use its legs to hammer at the window. It took a couple of blows, before she was rewarded with a satisfying crack in the glass. She paused, essaying her work, before resuming again to finish the job. She almost didn't hear the door open behind her.

She gasped, and whirled around, her back to the wall. Two men entered the room … the older, carrying her stolen necklace in his hand. He held it up, his eyes darting between charm and her. "Good day, Mrs. Roger," he said. "I am Doctor Septimus Pretorius, and this is my associate, Doctor Heinrich Frankenstein. I think it's time we had a little chat."


	2. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Monster's POV

"It's going to be a terrific storm," Pretorius announced, eyes heavenward. Lightning flashed through the skies, as nature itself seemed to announce its objection as the bandaged-wrapped body, strapped onto its mechanical platform, was raised slowly through the skylight.

Frankenstein looked at the dials which were attached to sensors on the female form above. "My God, you were right," he said. "Whatever it was used for originally, that ancient bauble seems to be energizing the body … the electrical impulses in the atmosphere are actually registering inside its nerve endings."

"Release that woman!" A third voice is heard is the room, and the two scientists are startled by the appearance of a pair of intruders in their laboratory: the speaker was tall and lean and hawk-like, the other shorter and rotund with a waxed moustache. Both of them were carrying handguns. "You must cease this profane madness," said the other man.

Pretorius blinked. "Who dares?"

"Sherlock Holmes, at your service," he said, his voice dripping anger and sarcasm, and this is my compatriot, Hercule Poirot. Release Mrs. Roger now before we are forced to fire on you."

Frankenstein and Pretorius looked at one another, and the former nodded. "We are done, and shall do as you say. Although I believe you will be disappointed … the woman who was once Jo Roger is now something much grander."

As the platform began to descend, Frankenstein eyed the two men warily. "How did you find us?"

"It was elementary," Holmes said. "You had used an antique scalpel of German manufacture to pry open the safe. Moreover, you left behind a piece of your jacket … a wool and weave which is sold primarily in Ingolstadt."

"Your _grand-père's_ reputation preceded you," Poirot continued. "It was nothing to determine where you had located yourself … and where you had taken poor Mrs. Roger."

Pretorius began to remove the bandages from the creature's face, and the now-revealed eyes focused clearly on him. "She's alive! Alive!" Frankenstein shouted in his excitement. The two scientists tilted the platform so that the feminine figure was upright. Her face was severe but had an eerie beauty; only some of Jo March's features were recognisable in it. Her hair rose up over her head darkly, streaked with white. "What monstrosity is this?" Holmes asked, taken aback.

"The Bride of the Monster," Pretorius replied, and for the first time the two detectives took note of the grotesquely tall figure standing in the shadows in a corner of the laboratory.

Poirot cursed, his gun alternating back and forth between the scientists and the new arrival. "I had thought it only fiction …_ou le Prométhée Moderne_," he said quietly.

The monster began to lurch towards the new creation. "Friend? Friend?" he asked, his craggy face expressing an innocent yearning. He was rewarded only by a shriek from the Bride, who although newly born regarded his grotesque features as horrifying.

The Monster scowled, "She hate me. Like others." He roared his fury, and began to rage about the laboratory, massive fists striking out at the equipment. Holmes and Poirot fired at him, and he responded with pain, but that only served to increase his rage. Following some destructive instinct, he headed towards the lever which controlled the shutoff to the laboratory's cooling system.

Frankenstein shouted out, "Look out! The lever!"

Pretorius' voice took on a pleading tone. "Get away from that lever. You'll blow us all to atoms."

The Monster looked at the two detectives, somehow sensing their innocence. He beckoned to them and Frankenstein, somehow unable to kill the man who shared lineage with his creator. "You live! Go!"

Poirot turned to Holmes, "We can't leave Mrs. Roger, we can't."

Holmes scowled, as an alarm siren began to emit a shrieking sound. "I don't think there is anything of the original Mrs. Roger left." He took Frankenstein by the shoulders and began to hustle him out.

The Monster beckoned to Pretorius next. "You stay! We belong dead!" As flames began to flicker about the laboratory, weakening the beams which held the building in place so that it began to crumble around them, he reached out and took the Bride by the wrist, who responded by recoiling and emitting a snake-like hiss. "We belong together," he said, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss.


End file.
